A Yellow Scarf
by Chef Boyardee
Summary: The story of a common man, Huan Jue, and his adventures with the Yellow Scarves.
1. A Yellow Scarf Chapter 1

A Yellow Scarf  
  
By Chef Boyardee  
  
Authors Notes: This is my first fan fiction, but please, I don't want anyone to go easy on me in the reviews. If it's as bad as I think it is, please say it.  
Oh yeah, and thanks to Yukira Tsurama. If it weren't for her, I probably wouldn't even know about this site! (  
  
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First Year of Central Stability (AD 184)  
  
A salty tear slowly streaked down his cheek as he stared down at his ailing daughter. Sweat clung to her pallid forehead, her breathing shallow and raspy. Dark bags sagged under her bloodshot eyes, obviously from a lack of sleep. All color was drained from her face, and dried blood stained her pale lips.  
"I'm sorry, there is nothing I can do for your daughter, Huan Jue. Please forgive me," the doctor said sullenly. He glanced down at Huan Jue's daughter and stroked his bushy, white beard. He silently nodded to Huan Jue as he picked up his bag and furtively sneaked out of the small, bamboo hut's door.  
Huan Jue wasn't a tall man, but neither was he short. His tattered tunic hung limply from his emaciated body; it had been a bad year for the harvest. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed the lines of strain and worry on his face, his fists clenched, knuckles white. Tears streamed down the desperate man's cheek as he glanced over to his daughter; he couldn't bear to look at her for long. She was dying.  
Huan Jue was looking for a miracle, a miracle he knew didn't exist. His daughter had reached a new stage of her illness; she was puking bile and blood now. He knew the end was near, and no doctor could help her. He doubted even the legendary doctor, Hua Tuo could save his dying daughter. With a sigh of resignation, he trudged heavily out the door to the bar. He was greeted by the familiar faces of his fellow villagers, and a few strangers as well.  
As Huan Jue sat down at an unoccupied table in the corner of the bar, he noticed a crowd of strangers congregating at the far side of the room. The men were crowded around a bearded man, adorned in an extravagant yellow robe, with a scroll in his hands and a crooked staff leaning silently on his shoulder. Huan Jue heard the incomprehensible murmurs of the men, and often caught their glances in his direction. Eventually, one of the men, a bald, rugged looking man, stepped away from the group and approached Jue.  
"My master, the Mystic of the Way of Peace, would like to speak to you." The man said as he crossed his arms over his chest. Huan Jue gave the stranger a glance of suspicion.  
"I don't have time for strangers. Leave me to my grieving," Huan Jue responded. He lifted his mug of ale to his lips and quaffed the bitter liquid until it was gone.  
The stranger nodded, "It's about your daughter." He walked away, and disappeared back into the crowd.  
Huan Jue fought back a tear, as it threatened to trickle down his cheek. How could this stranger know about his daughter? Some bastard in the village must have told this "Mystic of the Way of Peace". Jue wasn't going to put up with this, some outsider wanting to talk about his dying daughter. Not if he had anything to do with it. Jue got up out of his seat and stomped angrily over to the congregation of strangers across the room.  
"Which one of you outsiders is the Mystic of the Way of Peace?" Huan Jue demanded as he cracked one of his bony knuckles. The robed man with the staff stepped forward.  
"My name is Zhang Jiao, but people often call me the Mystic of the Way of Peace. Rumor around town tells of your sick daughter, Huan Jue." The robed man began, but was cut off by Huan Jue.  
"What do you want with my daughter, stranger? She's," he faltered, "she's dying. She doesn't have much time left, and I'm sure she doesn't want to spend it with some dirty stranger."  
Zhang Jiao stroked his long, scraggly beard and perused a scroll he was holding. "Are you a literate man, Huan Jue?"  
"There isn't a literate man in this entire village," Huan Jue replied.  
"If you could read, Huan Jue, then these scrolls that I'm holding would be of much use to you. These scrolls, the Essential Arts of Peace, are ancient teachings of medicines long lost to any doctor in this land. I indeed have a cure for your daughter's sickness, and I will give it to you, on one condition," Zhang Jiao said. He nonchalantly skimmed through a page of the scroll.  
"You," Huan Jue stammered, "You can help my daughter?"  
"I am looking for men, Huan Jue, and good men. Rumor says that you are a capable warrior, and I am looking for men skilled in the art of war. I will, indeed, cure your daughter if you pledge your fealty to me, Zhang Jiao." Zhang Jiao lifted his head from the scrolls, and gazed fixedly at Huan Jue.  
"I'll do anything, anything at all. Just," a tear ran down Huan Jue's face, "just help my daughter."  
"Take me to your house. I will cure your daughter of her ailments." Zhang Jiao said.  
The two walked from the bar and into the dirt street. They walked a few houses down and stopped a small, bamboo hut. Zhang Jiao followed Huan Jue into the house, and accompanied him to Jue's daughter. After a brief moment, Zhang Jiao poured over his scrolls for what seemed like an eternity to Jue. Jue sat in the corner of the room and nervously ran his hands through his hair. He didn't trust the stranger, but he didn't have anything to lose.  
Zhang Jiao put his hand over the dying girl's head and began chanting words inaudible to Huan Jue. With his left hand, he pulled a satchel from his robe and sprinkled its contents, some dried herbs, onto the girl's forehead. He pulled another pouch from his robe and emptied its contents, more dried herbs into the girl's mouth. He lit an incense candle at the foot of the girl's bed and stepped over to Huan Jue.  
"She will be better within the week. I will return in two weeks, after your daughter has recuperated from her illness. I would like you to entrust her in the care of a family member or oath brother," Zhang Jiao said to Huan Jue, as he repacked his pouches into his robe.  
"I thank you, Mystic of the Way of Peace. I am truly indebted to you. I will serve you until my death," tears streaked down the joyous man's face, and for the first time in a month, the man smiled. A few words were passed between the two men, and Zhang Jiao left the humble building.  
  
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Huan Jue had entrusted his daughter to his brother when Zhang Jiao appeared next. After pledging his undying loyalty of Zhang Jiao and his cause, he was handed a yellow scarf. He tied the scarf around his head, and the two men walked out of the village, never to return. 


	2. A Yellow Scarf Chapter 2

A Yellow Scarf - Chapter Two  
  
By Chef Boyardee  
  
Author's Notes: Oooooh boy! The next exciting chapter in A Yellow Scarf! I know you're all so thrilled! I hope this chapter is as exhilarating as the last one!  
  
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AD 186  
  
Zhang Jiao sat atop a large rock, surrounded by his followers, rough- looking men donned in tattered clothing and yellow scarves. Delicately handling his immense scrolls, the Essential Arts of Peace, he scanned the pages for a parable that he could tell his disciples. He browsed the thick vellum for something suiting, something that would enlighten his men. Then, a story came to mind, the Story of the Brave Warrior. Yes, that would do. After a minute of perusing the scroll, he found the story.  
  
"Dear disciples, today I have selected a parable that I believe can teach you a most valuable lesson. It is called 'The Story of the Brave Warrior', and it is my intention that this story brings you one step closer to enlightenment." Zhang Jiao said, as he lifted his head from the massive scroll and gazed at his tattered followers.  
  
Huan Jue sat among Zhang Jiao's followers; he had joined them more than two years ago. He, unlike the other men, was wearing a relatively clean tunic and long, brown pants, as well as the customary yellow scarf. His arms had grown large from the rigors of training, and his appetite, as well; he was eating some rice as he listened to Zhang Jiao's teachings. He often came to Zhang Jiao's daily edification, and recognized the wisdom, the truly enlightenment of his words. Jue listened intently as the Mystic of the Way of Peace told his parable.  
  
"This story, is the story of a brave, young warrior, the finest in his village, in fact," Zhang Jiao began, "He was revered, respected by his fellow warriors, and had come out the victor in many a battle. His many children, girl and boy alike, were trained in the art of war, the warrior their teacher.  
  
"One day, the warrior decided to go hunting in the dense forest, where the tigers roamed. With his bow in his hand, he wandered through the forest, but accidentally strayed off the path and came upon a bloodthirsty tiger, and was forced to do battle. The fight was a fierce one, and the warrior and the tiger exchanged many blows, but in the end, the tiger was slain. But the fight with the tiger maimed the brave warrior, and he was forced to return home.  
  
"The brave warrior was wounded badly, and the people of his village were surprised to see him in such a state when he returned. He was forced to take to the bed for many months before he fully recovered, but his wife and children attended to his every need.  
  
"One day, a messenger from an enemy village came to the brave warrior's village, and told the villagers to assemble their finest warriors and meet on the battlefield. All of the men from the village assembled in the town square and prepared for the ensuing battle, but the one brave warrior was unable to go, because of his wounds. Even though many of his wounds had disappeared, his wife would not let him go. The men's wives kissed them as they went off to battle and left the village.  
  
"The men from the brave warrior's village fought valiantly, but were all killed by the enemy village. All of their wives were left widows, and the brave warrior was the only man left in town. The brave warrior was the last soldier in the village, and he had also been the best. He knew that if he had gone, he could have prevented the deaths of many of his fellow villagers, that his village could have won the battle," Zhang Jiao looked up from the mildewed scrolls and gazed into his audience, "Tell me, what did you learn from this story?"  
  
There was a silence, a long pause, and then one of the men stood up. He was a bald man, one of the few men that wasn't wearing a turban. His clothes were tattered, and his arms large, sinew showing. He stood on powerful legs, clad in old, brown pants. Huan Jue recognized him as Pei Yuan Shao.  
  
"Ummm." He paused, "Is it bad to fight tigers?"  
  
Another man, stood up and hit him in the back on the head, "No, you idiot, it's that if all of the other men die, the man who survives can have all their women!"  
  
Zhang Jiao looked at the large crowd of men, a stoic expression across his face. For some reason, Huan Jue could detect a hint of sadness from him, "If that is what you make of my parable, so be it."  
  
A loud, astounding "aaah" resounded among the crowd, chattering broke out, and the men eventually dispersed. They went off in different directions, talking about the story and telling the parable to those who hadn't heard. Only one man remained sitting, pondering the real meaning of the tale. Huan Jue stroked his chin and looked up at Zhang Jiao.  
  
"Why do you remain here, Huan Jue? Is there something you want to ask me?" Zhang Jiao asked, as he lowered his head to the scrolls again, seemingly looking for another parable.  
  
"That was not the true meaning of the story, Mystic of the Way of Peace," Huan Jue replied. He stood up and subconsciously ran his fingers down one of his bangs of hair, poking out from under his turban.  
  
Zhang Jiao lifted his head and looked intently at Huan Jue. He squinted and cocked his head, looking at Huan Jue as if he were alien to him, "I am not one to judge, Huan Jue, what one man takes from one of my stories may be what was intended by the writer. But tell me, if that was not the real meaning, what was?"  
  
"That one man can make a difference, that one warrior can change the fate of a battle." Huan Jue looked at Zhang Jiao, and for the first time, looked him strait in the eyes.  
  
"Haha," Zhang Jiao laughed, "Very good, very good! I've known you were different, Huan Jue, the moment I met you. You are an intelligent man, wise beyond your years, and I am glad to have met you. You, Huan Jue, you are special, not like these other men. I've been waiting for a long time to have a disciple like you. Let me tell you something.  
  
"I am sure, Huan Jue, that you realize my intentions of overthrowing the Han. It is time for change, time for a new era to dawn over China, and I am the bringer of revolution. The Han has been plaguing China for two generations with it's corruption, scheming politicians," He paused, "We have been run by court eunuchs, and not a rightful ruler for too long, it is time to put an end to the decadent Han Empire. It is I that will lead this revolution, but I would like you by my side as I take the throne of the emperor. I would like you to be one of my generals, Huan Jue."  
  
Huan Jue was taken aback by what Zhang Jiao had said. He had never expected to become one of Zhang Jiao's right hand men, let alone be acknowledged by him after he enlisted with him. He didn't know what to say; he tried to stammer something, but nothing came out. Eventually, all he could say was, "I accept."  
  
"That is good. I anticipate your success as a general for me. I believe that you, Huan Jue, are the warrior that will make the difference in the upcoming battles." Zhang Jiao said. He closed his scrolls and tucked them under his arm.  
  
With that, Zhang Jiao climbed off the rock and silently walked away, to his tent. Huan Jue climbed on to the rock and silently thought to himself. 


End file.
